HE ELOISE CHIMES 


PS 3515 
.1137 E5 
1924 
Copy 1 


CAROLS 

ON 

®fjc jHatitritp, passion anb insurrection 

OF 

©ur Horb Jesus Cfjrtst 


BY 

LINCOLN HULLEY 





THE ELOISE CHIMES 


CAROLS 

ON 

®be Jlattoitp, passion anb Resurrection 

OF 

<2£>ur Horb 3feus CfjriSt 


BY 

LINCOLN HULLEY 


75 sj'/s" 
M 37 f r 

/f 2.4 


COPYRIGHTED 

1924 

BY 

LINCOLN HULLEY 

DeLand. Fla. 



©CIA 81 4060 


PRESS OF THE 

E. O. Painter Printing Co 
DeLand, Fla 


( 


DEC -1 ’24 

' 


t 


DEDICATION 


These carols are dedicated to Eloise Mayham Hulley. The 
chime consists of eleven bells tuned in the key of D. The bells 
were given to Stetson University by the people of DeLand, and 
named by them in honor of Eloise Mayham Hulley. 

In the carols on the Nativity the bells are named from high E 
to low D as follows: Rachel, Ruth, Martha, Anna, Elizabeth, 
Mary, Ariel, Uriel, Raphael, Gabriel, Michael. 



POETIC PRODUCTIONS 

BY 

LINCOLN HULLEY 


Lullabies and Slumber Songs 

Annie-Laurie: Love—Lyrics 

Hiram Abiff, the Builder 

Sonnets on the Immortal Bards 

Shakespere’s Dream of Fair Women 

Moonlight Nights at Palm Beach 

King David: Israel’s Lyric Bard 

Christina, or Christian Van Dusen’s Law-Suit 

Chivalry in Dixie: Metrical Romances 

Mike Murphy’s Dream 

Campus Memories 

Alice Coventry and Other Metrical Romances 
The Eloise Chimes 

Chapel Lyrics of Faith, Hope and Love 
College Lyrics of Idealism 
Fables and Myths from the Sibyl’s Book 
Tho Jubilate of Rabbi Ben Adam 
Christian Hymns 

The Children’s Hour and other Poems 

St. Michael and the Dragon: An Epic of the War 

Savonarola’s Visions of Judgment 

A Confessional for Broken Lives 

Vesper Songs of Joy, Trust and Praise 

Brave Idylls of the Gallant South 

Dwellers Beyond the Styx, or Tragedies of Love 

Dixie Sketches in Chalk and Charcoal 




CONTENTS 


I. THE NATIVITY. 

1. The Annunciation. 

2. Elizabeth to Mary. 

3. The Keeper of the Inn. 

4. The Birth of Jesus. 

5. The Prophecies Recalled. 

6. Grandmother Ruth. 

7. The Shepherds. 

8. The Three Wise Men. 

9. Herod the King. 

10. Mary’s Song. 

11. Universal Joy. 

II. THE PASSION. 

1. The Last Supper. 

2. Judas the Traitor. 

3. The Garden of Gethsemane. 

4. The Midnight Mob. 

5. The High Priest. 

6. The Soldier’s Sport. 

7. Christ Before Pilate. 

8. The Via Dolorosa. 

9. Golgotha. 

10. Crucifixion. 

11. Who Crucified Christ? 

III. THE RESURRECTION. 

1. The Dead Christ. 

2. The Funeral Procession. 

3. The Centurion at the Grave. 

4. Gabriel and the Resurrection. 

5. The Two Marys Going to the Tomb. 

6. The Gardener. 

7. John to Peter. 

8. The Resurrection Joy. 

9. The Roman Guard. 

10. Two Going to Emmaus. 

11. Christ’s Triumph Over Death. 


5 







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CAROLS 


ON 

THE NATIVITY of our LORD JESUS CHRIST 
on CHRISTMAS DAY 

1. The Annunciation _Gabriel 

2. Elizabeth to Mary _Elizabeth 

3. The Keeper of the Inn _Martha 

4. The Birth of Jesus _Rachel 

5. The Prophecies Recalled _Anna 

6. Grandmother Ruth -Ruth 

7. The Shepherds _Raphael 

8. The Three Wise Men _Uriel 

9. Herod the King--—Michael 

10. Mary’s Song -Mary 

11. Universal Joy _ Ariel 

Gabriel’s Annunciation 

I was the angel sent of God 
To take the news to Mary; 

An Easter lily sent of God 
I gave to gentle Mary; 

She was such a tender thing— 

Wee, and winsome Mary, 

But her child should be a King, 

And she a queen, sweet Mary. 


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I went with His almighty rod 
To take the news to Mary; 

It turned a lily, sent from God, 

To win the heart of Mary; 

Holiness was in her face, 

Blessed, modest Mary, 

To match the gentle Baby’s grace, 
Now mothered by sweet Mary. 

She meekly yielded, with a nod, 

To all I said to Mary; 

She took the lily, thanking God 
For all He did—for Mary; 

Joy was now her woman’s part, 
Happy, happy Mary; 

Christ was held beneath her heart, 
But, Oh! The pain for Mary. 

Elizabeth to Mary 

Elizabeth, thy cousin, 

Sends greeting with affection 
To Mary, her beloved, 

The mother of our Lord. 

I oft recall thy visit; 

To me the recollection 
Is scented with thy happy 
Recital of the word. 

I hear the hated taxes 
Will bring thee to the city; 


8 


My baby keeps me busy, 

Or I should see thee then. 

For, know, as I expected, 

My baby came. No pity 
Can touch our hearts so deeply 
As mothering little men. 

Sweet Mary, now, my fingers 
Are filled with saintly duty; 

I little knew the pleasure 
My baby would bestow. 

For you, your time of waiting 
Must end soon; ah! the beauty 
You then must have—full measure— 
Of holiness, and so 

I wish you well, sweet Mary; 

May God fulfill the blisses! 

He will, you may be sure; 

It was His certain word. 

Elizabeth, thy cousin, 

With tender, hearty kisses 
To Mary, her beloved, 

Sends peace, and to her Lord. 


The Keeper of the Inn 

There was no room for Joseph 
And Mary at the inn; 

The crowds had thronged the roadways, 
And more were pressing in; 


9 


The line of royal David 
Had filled the town with kin, 

When these two weary travellers sought 
The keeper of the inn. 

“Our need is very urgent,” 

Said Joseph—not in vain; 

He was a humble toiler, 

A carpenter, and plain; 

But he had friendly manners, 

A face with smiles that win, 

And now his simple story caught 
The keeper of the inn. 

Mine host was full of kindness; 

He answered with a smile: 

“We have a good sized manger, 

You shall stay there awhile;” 

He led the way quite slowly; 

They followed, singly, in; 

And on the hay they rested. Thanks, 
O keeper of the inn! 

He brought them food and water, 

And piled in lots of straw; 

He sent his kindly daughter 
To help—the men withdraw; 

It was an act of mercy, 

The angels all looked in, 

And blessed the host and hostess, 

The keepers of the inn. 

Next morning saw the wonder; 

The women in the court 


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Were full of gossip truly; 

A certain strange report 
Went round, that, in the manger, 

Amid the noise and din, 

An infant lodger waited 
The keeper of the inn. 

He shook with peals of laughter, 

And hastened to the stall; 

He smiled to see the baby, 

And blessed them, one and all. 

Thanks, thanks, O worthy landlord! 
God fend thee from all sin; 

The angels will remember 
The keeper of the inn. 

The Birth of Jesus 

In a humble cattle stall 
A virgin waits her baby; 

At the inn the people push; 

Round the court-yard strangers rush; 
In the lowly stable—hush! 

A mother bears a baby. 

Anguish voiced itself in prayer! 

She hears the wailing baby! 

Her deep misery was brief; 

Weeping for both joy and grief, 
Motherhood was now her chief 
Thought about the baby. 

All the cattle in the stall 
Turned their looks on baby; 


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Full of wonder are their eyes, 

When the darling baby cries; 

Beasts and dumb, but, ah! such wise 
Sympathy for baby. 

Then the ass and ass’s colt 
Brayed to greet the baby; 

In that humble cattle shed, 

Sharing each the other’s bed, 

Lowly beast and kingly head— 

All adored the baby. 

Nature too showed sympathy 
For the royal baby; 

Hear the night winds gently croon: 
Baby’s cradle is the moon!” 

“Hush Thee,” sang the night winds. Soon, 
Sleep had soothed the baby. 

The Prophecies 

At the dawn of the world, 

In the curse on our blood 
A sweet promise lay curled, 

Like a rose in the bud, 

And a seraph’s sweet voice 
Gave a message—its sum: 

“Let earth’s children rejoice! 

The Messiah shall come.” 

Once again came the word 
Unto Abraham, sheik 
In the desert; the Lord 
Sought him out, and He spake 


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To him low in his tent: 

“I will bless thee and thine 
On the way I have sent 
Thee, and give thee a sign.” 

Unto David, the king, 

And sweet singer of songs, 

Like the whir of the wing 
Of a dove, he prolongs 
That sweet message of love: 

“I shall give in your line 
My own Son from above, 

In whose life I shall shine.” 

When Isaiah appeared 
With a burst of sweet praise, 

All the people were cheered 
By his marvellous lays, 

That God’s servant would soon 
Come with joy to our earth, 

And the night should be noon, 
And our sorrow be mirth. 

That sweet word is fulfilled 
In the babe that is born; 

And our hearts have been thrilled 
By the first Christmas morn; 
With a halo we crown 
Him, obeying His nod, 

Given not with a frown, 

But the goodness of God. 


13 


Christ’s Great Grandmother, Ruth 

King David sprang from Ruth, 

And, now to see her kin, 

She searches every booth, 

Around that country inn, 

At Bethlehem, that fearful day 
When carnival was holding sway, 

And men were full of zeal, 

To lift the conqueror’s heel. 

This same grandmother Ruth, 

Beside His cradle now, 

Was charming in her youth, 

With chaplets, on her brow, 

Of love and purity and grace, 

That stamped then^selves upon her face, 
And let their glory through, 

For Israel to view. 

His great grandmother Ruth 
Is hovering in the air; 

She sets the seal of truth 
Upon His lips, her prayer 
That He may teach the ways of life, 

And lure the world to moral strife, 

To conquer death and sin, 

And let God’s glory in. 

The ever-faithful Ruth 
Had spoken words of grace 
To one in grief forsooth, 

And kissed her tearful face; 

This tenderness should be once more 


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Renewed in Him whose name she wore, 
And men should weep for joy, 

At this sweet Baby Boy. 

Here in the manger, Ruth 
Pressed Baby to her breast, 

Touched honey to His mouth, 

And gave Him dreams—the best; 
Invisible to all, she blessed 
His infant life, and then caressed 
Sweet Mary at His side, 

The virgin—mother—bride. 

The Shepherds 

Jacob, David, Jonadab 
Tended sheep near Bethlehem; 

At the midnight hour a stab 
Rent the air and startled them; 

David thought it was a sheep; 
Jacob thought a jackal’s bark; 
Jonadab was roused from sleep; 
All sat up and listened, hark! 

Jacob, David, Jonadab 
Heard an angel speaking plain, 

Not the idle, silly blab 

Of the common country swain; 

Jacob saw an angel face; 

David saw him just as clear; 
Jonadab perceived in space 
Holy angels drawing near. 


15 


Jacob, David, Jonadab 
Caught the angel’s very word: 

“In a manger’s stall or cab, 

“You shall find your Christ, the Lord.” 

Jacob, peace to all the earth! 

David, now good will to men! 
Jonadab, this Baby’s birth 
Shall restore the world again. 

Jacob, David, Jonadab 
Heard the angels overhead, 

Robed in light; (their own were drab) 
One archangel sweetly said: 

“Jonadab, be not afraid! 

Jacob, lo! I bring you joy! 

David, e’er the glory fade, 

Go, and see the Baby Boy!” 

Jacob, David, Jonadab 
Hastened to the inn, and found 
In the straw upon a slab, 

Mary’s Baby on the ground; 

Jacob held Him in his arms; 

Jacob kissed His baby cheek; 
Jonadab’s big finger charms 
Baby holding it, though weak. 


16 


The Three Wise Men 


We are watchers of the sky; 

We saw a light on high; 

It drew us from the distant East; 

Its blazing baffled king and priest, 

But we have come from far, 

Still guided by that star. 

The Magi were the wise 
Whose wisdom was a prize; 

The weary beasts might not be fed; 
Their way across the desert led; 

But they had seen a star, 

That glistened like a spar. 

Our ancient books have told 
The ages would unfold. 

And yield a god-man past all price, 
Whose death should be a sacrifice, 

A holy avatar, 

Now pointed by that star. 

At Bethlehem’s wayside inn, 

Amid the noise and din, 

They found the Baby with its charms, 
Asleep in dear, sweet Mary’s arms; 
Above, behold the star 
They followed from afar! 

Then Caspar gave Him gold, 

A treasure rare and old; 

He blessed Him with a sage’s sign, 

And, kneeling, worshipped at His shrine 


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Naught could his pleasure mar, 

For he had found his star. 

Then Melchior, frankincense, 

Heaped up, as evidence 

That he had found the world’s true King, 

In this wee, cooing baby thing, 

Whose progress none might bar, 

Protected by that star. 

Balthazar gave Him myrrh, 

And gently spoke to her, 

Sweet Mary, bending o’er her child, 

A gracious nature, pure and mild, 

“Thy Babe shall be our star, 

From this time His we are.” 

Herod—The King 

I am Michael of the sword; 

My hosts obey the word; 

We do God’s holy will for them, 

Who love the Babe of Bethlehem; 

When Lucifer would a rebel be 
He fell. All such are useless chaff; 

And should another rise, lo! He 

That sitteth in the heavens shall laugh. 

Ah! holy Child of God, 

Thy sceptre is Thy rod; 

And Herod, the coward king 
Shall not avail a thing; 

For though he write a vile decree, 

He leans upon a broken staff, 


18 


For when he strikes he fails, and He 
That sitteth in the heavens shall laugh. 

Beware the laugh of God! 

It means a wrathful rod 
Of chastisement in dreadful shape, 

And Herod cannot now escape, 

For though he murder babes in glee, 
He writes his own cursed epitaph, 

The wrath of God is on him; He 
That sitteth in the heavens shall laugh. 

Sweet Mary’s Word 

Sweet Mary said, “My soul 
Doth magnify the Lord; 

An overflowing bowl 
Is mine, to whom His word 
Was like the earth that standeth sure, 
And like the heavens, matchless, pure. 

“My cup of happiness 
Is brimming full, my joy 
Will burst my heart, unless 
I share it with my boy, 

For God has proved His love to me, 
And all the world, in sending Thee. 

“His weak hand-maiden, I 
Have known His mercy well; 

He drew me up on high 
With love no heart can tell; 

He made a chosen vessel, then, 

Of me to show His love to men. 


19 


“My baby, Thou are full 
Of mystery to me; 

Thine eyes are wonderful; 

I truly worship Thee; 

In line on line I think I trace 
The very God in Thy dear face. 

“Queer yearnings fill my heart— 
Strange hints of destiny 
I would not choose. Thy part 
In life Thine own shall be, 

But odd misgivings cloud my joy 
That I shall lose my darling Boy. 

“A prince of royal blood 
Thou art. The signs all run 
Our race is at the flood, 

And Thou art God’s own Son; 

The mystery is all too deep, 

And sometimes robs me of my sleep. 

“I love Thee with a love 
Transcending human bounds, 

Like that in God above, 

Whose love exceeds, confounds; 

But, Baby, though the years are long, 
The future waits Thee big and strong. 

“Dear Child, Thy holy lips 
Are full of grace and truth; 

Thy wee, small finger tips 
Are tender, soft and smooth; 

Right now I know that Thou art mine 
And that I always shall be Thine.” 


20 


Universal Joy 

Hark, in the sky 

The angels sing 

Good will and peace to men! 

Ah! hear their holy hymn, 

All glory be to Him 
And join the glad amen! 

High on the hills 

The shepherds crown 

Their service with their praise; 

Then hasten down 

To Bethlehem town 

And worship all their days. 

Lo! To our earth 
The Lord has come, 

A Babe in Bethlehem! 

He draws us all 
To yonder stall 
To kiss His garment’s hem! 

Far from the East 
The wise men bring 
Their offerings piled around; 
Above their wealth 
Each gives himself, 

And kneels upon the ground. 

Joy, joy to all! 

Our hearts exclaim; 

The Lord comes to His own; 
Receive your King, 

An offering bring, 

And worship round His throne. 


21 






THE PASSION of our LORD JESUS CHRIST 
on GOOD FRIDAY 


1. The Last Supper. 

2. Judas the Traitor. 

3. The Garden of Gethsemane. 

4. The Midnight Mob. 

5. The High Priest. 

6. The Soldier’s Sport. 

7. Christ Before Pilate. 

8. The Via Dolorosa. 

9. Golgotha. 

10. Crucifixion. 

11. Who Crucified Christ? 


The Last Supper 

The upper room, where Jesus met 
His twelve disciples last, 

Was full of tragedy. Its woe 
Would make them stand aghast. 

Though scales were on their eyes, their hearts 
Could feel impending doom; 

Hence on the company there fell 
A heavy sense of gloom. 

The men read in their Master’s face 
Unutterable pain; 

All listened, as, with steady voice, 

He spoke, though on a strain: 


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“My hour is come.” The clock had struck 
This meal, this night—no more! 

God held the key of destiny, 

And now would lock the door. 

“I have most earnestly desired 
To meet you here. Recline! 

Our final meal, sweet fellowship— 

I beg you now to dine. 

“An agony of death awaits! 

To-night I need a friend; 

And loving you, I’d have you know. 

I’ve loved you to the end.” 

Then, conscious of His dignity, 

He did a servant’s part; 

He washed their feet with tenderness; 

What loving hands and heart! 

A snake crawled in, and found a place, 

Curled up in one who ate 

The Master’s bread and salt—His grief 

Was hard to contemplate. 

“Soon one of you will sell his soul, 

A traitor to our cause! 

Oh! better were he never born, 

Than so outrage God’s laws.” 

“O Master, is it I ?” each cried; 

To John upon His breast 

He said, “ ’Tis he who takes the sop.” 

And Judas took the test. 


24 


In whispers Jesus softly said: 

“Do quickly what you do.” 

And then the serpent glided out, 

Upon a devil’s clue. 

“I told you all the other day, 

As many times before, 

That here, in dear Jerusalem, 

My earthly days were o’er. 

“That time has come. Now let us eat 
Our grand old Jewish feast; 

When slain, to-morrow, you shall see, 

In me, the lamb and priest.” 

And as they ate He took a loaf 
Of bread, and said, “Take eat! 

This is My body torn for you, 

A sacrifice complete.” 

He took a cup of wine; “This cup 
Sets forth My blood,” He said; 

“This do in sweet remembrance, oft, 
Hereafter when I’m dead.” 

That holy grail which touched His lips, 
Thereafter, was a prize; 

For those who drank from it should see 
The Christ with human eyes. 

Their hearts were troubled as His own; 

And so His table talk 

Was earnest, soulful, wise and kind; 

He heard the death watch walk. 


25 


With promises, and words of cheer, 

His heart at breaking point, 

He comforts those whose faith and love 
He would not disappoint. 

With loyal hearts they tendered all; 

Death has its recompense. 

With nerve and will He speaks, “Arise, 
Now let us all go hence.” 

Judas, with Itching Palms 

Judas, the man with the hangdog look, 
Who scowls in Da Vinci’s picture, 

Muttered at what the spikenard took 
From the bag, and made his stricture: 
“This was a treasure thrown away; 

The poor had need of it here to-day." 

Not that he cared for the poor, at all, 

Who filled up the alleys and ditches; 

They might have perished beneath the wall, 
But he had the curse of riches; 

He was the man that carried the bag, 

But not the man to advance the flag. 

* 

He had the torment of itching palms, 

A torment that leads to sorrow; 

He knew the measures of all the psalms, 
But not greed’s fate tomorrow; 

He was disloyal to Christ, his chief; 

He carried the bag, and was a thief. 

Cunning he was, and he laid dark schemes, 
As black as his own dark features; 


26 


He threaded the alleys in quest of dreams, 

Like one of the slinking creatures; 

At every shadow he felt a thump, 

That knocked at his heart, and made him jump. 

Creeping along to the palace wall, 

He halted, and studied the gateway; 

Fearful, he knocked at the entrance hall; 

It yielded admission straitway; 

There in the centre the foxes sat, 

Planning a {rap to catch a rat. 

“What will you give me to lead the way?” 

They parleyed and bargained smartly; 

Eighteen pieces they managed to pay; 

Now, look to the matter sharply! 

Out like a blood-hound he sought the trail, 

But into his heart he thrust a nail. 

He knew the place where Jesus slept, 

Had followed Him oft to the garden; 

Now as a serpent he slyly crept, 

With a mob he had helped to harden; 

What frightful perfidy now was this? 

He gave his Master a traitor’s kiss! 

But Judas was human. And any drudge 
Can match the scowl in his features; 

Thank God, that none of us are his judge; 
Perhaps, none are fit as his teachers; 

For he was so like us in soul and mind, 

We need to be humble, and not unkind. 

Let him who thinks he stands take heed; 

The tempter, near by, is ready; 


27 


The scoffer is one who has most need; 
So stand to your duty steady; 

Leave to Christ the lover of man 
The sin of Judas and Judas’ clan. 

" The Garden of Gethsemane 

In far away Judea, 

Outside a city’s walls, 

Within a sacred garden, 

A lonely leader calls, 

In agony of sorrow, 

Stretched prostrate on the ground; 
“Oh! let this cup pass from me,” 
His bitterness profound. 

Distracted near to madness, 

In anguish close to death, 

His spirit racked with tortures, 

He writhed with fitful breath; 

The blood oozed from His body 
In beads of crimson sweat; 

“Thy will not mine, O Father, 

I have not failed Thee yet.” 

Across the slope, a shadow 
Crept up behind the wall; 

It had an ugly figure, 

And foxy over all; 

It was the arch Fear, Satan, 

Who sought to crawl and glide 
Into the Master’s spirit, 

And there to slink and hide. 


28 


But, ah! such was His habit 
The Fear could not get in; 

Prayer barred the door it bolted 
Against all fear and sin; 

But, not without a struggle, 

They grappled in the dark, 

And, like St. Michael’s dragon, 

Christ slew the creature stark. 

Within His friendly circle 
Were three the Lord leaned on ; 

The partners of His bosom 
Were Peter, James and John; 

But they were tired, drowsy, 

Their eye-lids over come; 

Hence none could keep His vigil; 
From sleep their lips were dumb. 

He waked them, gently chiding; 
“Could ye not watch one hour?” 
Then, to His dreadful praying; 
Again, He sought the Power; 

“If possible, dear Father, 

Let this cup pass away;” 

The Heavens seemed shut and silent, 
As if to say Him—nay. 

On high, above the garden, 

A flaming sword was seen; 

’Twas Michael with his armies 
Arrayed in glorious sheen; 

And from the host an angel, 

’Twas Gabriel, come to bless 
The Master in His anguish 
And ease the fearful stress. 


29 


Thrice groaned He in His sorrow; 

He wept in bitter grief; 

Nor could He even borrow 
From God or friends relief; 

But into His great spirit 

Came peace that soothed His pain; 

Within Him dwelt the Power; 

He had not called in vain. 

“Sleep on! my weary brothers, 

And take your longed-for rest; 

Alone I’ll tread the wine-press, 

Mine is the awful test. 

This is a fearful hour, 

Oh! watch, and strive, and pray, 

And tremble not, nor cower— 

Now comes a frightful day!” 

Midnight Mob 

Shortly past the midnight hour, 
Toward the eastern gate and tower 
Surged a mob. They came from pens, 
From the vilest sort of dens, 

Alleys, courts, a rabble-rout, 

Drabs and lust-fiends, down and out. 

Passing through the eastern gate, 
Stirring up their souls to hate, 

Down, across the Kidron, swept 
These low kinds who had not slept: 
Vampires, vixens, pimps and bawds, 
And among them pious frauds. 


30 


With a traitor at their head, 

Clutching gold to buy them bread, 
Taken, with a greedy hand, 

From a sanctimonious band— 

Saints whose garments showed big holes, 
Bored by vermin, moths, and moles. 

On they hurried up the slope, 

In their hearts a sullen hope, 

All their beastly lusts to feed, 

Scarce restrained by men, indeed, 

Who, as officers, had come 
To arrest a vagrant bum. 

Armed with pikes, and guns, and staves 
As if men they sought were knaves, 
Holding torches in their hand, 

So that none might hide, the band 
Searched with lanterns, faint and dull, 
For the moon was at the full. 

Moral lepers came in strength, 

Hounds of hell unleashed at length, 
Beggars, soldiers, gypsy-beasts, 

Come to share the festal feasts, 

Apaches swarmed from hidden rooms, 
Dead men sprang from living tombs. 

Hypocrites were in the van, 

Lost to God, and foes to man, 

Souls who had the weasel head, 

Corrupt at heart, and devil fed, 

These, with maggots in their brains, 
Wearing, too, the devil’s chains. 


31 


Idle men who loved a spree 
Joined the frightful lynching bee, 

Equally with those who preach 
Hate, as all fanatics teach, 

Swollen in their human pride, 

Lost ta truth and love beside. 

But they halt, for, lo! a man 
Stands erect, and firm, though wan: 

“Whom seek ye?” asked a gentle voice; 
“Jesus.” “Then since I’m your choice, 

Let these go for I am He;” 

Him they seized, the others free. 

Then, with clamor, off they speed, 

Soon to satiate their greed 
With the blood of innocence; 

Whose foul death no recompense 
Could bring Jews, who undergo 
Centuries of untold woe. 

The Great High Priest 

The captain of the palace guard 

Made haste to fetch his prisoner in 

Where both High Priests—the two were kin— 

Might quiz the scoundrel, good and hard. 

The palace was a gorgeous house 
Wherein the great High Priest now dwelt; 

The people thought he daily knelt— 

He watched them as a cat a mouse. 

The God he served he now deposed 
In Jesus standing meekly by; 


32 


The cat had never closed its eye, 

The mouse found every exit closed. 

First Annas was the one to speak, 
Caiaphas, calling, started next; 

The latter took a chosen text, 

Intending thus revenge to seek. 

Revenge for what? The simple truth 
Is this, the country rabbi flared 
Against the priests, and even dared 
To do so, from His early youth. 

All knew he had prejudged the case; 
Convinced, he said, that “one should die 
To save the nation;” therefore, why 
Be light on one so vile and base? 

He ran his probe in swift and deep; 

What is this teaching you give out ? 

Come, tell me what it’s all about? 

The cat was blinking—not asleep. 

The simple-hearted rabbi said: 

“I ever spoke before the crowd, 

In silence nothing—all aloud— 

Nor have I now a thing to dread.” 

“Take that,” a captain said, and smote 
Him on the mouth, with open hand; 

“If I have spoken ill, I stand 
Here to be judged as Moses wrote.” 

Caiaphas asked Him of the men, 

Who followed Him, and whom He taught; 


33 


He tried to penetrate His thought; 

The cat was baffled once again. 

The scribes and elders had convened 
Within the palace hall. They meant 
To use the chance that Heaven sent, 

And save the priests he had demeaned. 

The prince of lies has often sought 
To wear a scholar’s robe and cap; 

So these, now, set a subtle trap, 

To kill the mouse that had been caught. 

Some witnesses they bribed to swear 
They heard Him blaspheme God, and say 
The temple where men come to pray 
He could make over, if He care. 

The cat now planned to spring, and said, 

“On solemn oath, now speak it plain, 

Art Thou the Christ of God? Abstain 
From lies, or we shall strike Thee dead.” 

And Jesus said: “I am.” For that 
They sent Him to His death. His claim 
That He was God, and bore His name, 

Was final for the mouse and cat. 

Hypocrisy, behind the mask, 

Then burst all bounds. The great High Priest 
Now rent his clothes, so all, the least; 

The holy fraud had done his task. 


34 


The Soldiers’ Sport 


’Twas now the soldiers led Him out 
To banter Him with sport, 

Like some poor silly country lout, 

Within the soldiers’ court. 

They put a blindfold on His eyes, 

And cried, “Now prophesy 

Who was it tagged Thee, teacher wise ?” 

They heard Him only sigh. 

The leaders spit upon His face 
Their venom, mixed with spleen; 

Their victim showed no sign or trace 
Of aught unkind or mean. 

They boxed His ears, and digged His sides, 
Inventing cruelties; 

And each in hideous language chides 
The convict on His knees. 

They slapped Him with their open hands, 
And punched Him with their fists; 

The Roman soldiers in all lands 
Knew cruel tricks and twists. 

They set their prisoner at naught, 

And mocked Him in their speech; 

They put on Him a robe one brought, 

Then called out each to each: 

“This is the Christ, the Jewish King!” 

And, decked up in this cloak, 

Old Herod’s soldiers put a ring 
Upon His thumb in joke. 


35 


A sceptre, then, some kind of stick, 

They placed within His hand; 

Hail to the King! And He heart-sick, 
Before this rabble band. 

They plaited too a crown of thorns, 

And pressed it on His brow; 

The blood came out; the rabble scorns 
His suffering features now. 

They stripped Him then, and bared His back 
To cruel blows from thongs; 

Such scourging made the flesh turn black, 
And argued greatest wrongs. 

Some hit Him next on top the head 
With reeds, and then they bowed 
Mockingly down, while others said: 

“Hail to the King, avowed!” 

This did the soldier—butcher band, 

Who slaughtered the Son of God; 

They worked by choice, and not command; 
They tramped Him, roughly shod. 

Christ Before Pilate 

The Roman ruler, Pilate, sat 
Stern upon the judgment seat; 

“Bring the prisoner in, state flat 
What the charges are, complete!” 

Now behold them, side by side, 

Jewish hate and Roman pride. 


36 


Round the famous judgment hall 
Thronged a sullen Jewish mob; 

Most of them had come on call, 

Bent upon a coward’s job; 

Pilate eyed them there, forlorn; 

Jewish hate met Roman scorn. 

Officers brought in their man— 

Some poor priest it seemed, who, glum, 
Left his country, and his clan, 

Back in Galilee, his home; 

Now the puzzled people saw 
Jewish hate claim Roman law. 

Jewish rule said he should die— 
Carrion, just some common clod; 

He has blasphemed the most High, 
Saying He’s the Son of God; 

How they grappled in that hour— 
Jewish hate with Roman power! 

Pilate was both shrewd and keen, 

Seeking how to dodge their claim, 

Sure their holy zeal could screen 
Devil’s work, which was their aim; 

Now a war of wits will draft 
Jewish hate ’gainst Roman craft. 

“Speak,” said Pilate, “Is this true?” 
Jesus stood in silence there. 

Was He then a common Jew, 

Stupid, who could stand and stare? 
Jesus hammers into dust 
Jewish hate and Roman lust. 

37 


“Don’t you know I have the power 
Here, to make or break your will, 

This may be your mortal hour?” 

Jesus stood there silent still; 

Some have thought that bribes would feed 
Jewish hate and Roman greed. 

“Thou hast none o’er me, except 
God has sent it from above;” 

Now the troubled Pilate crept 
Forward, seeing in Him—love; 

Who is this they dare to flout? 

Jewish hate raised Roman doubt. 

Then his agitated wife 
Warned her husband of a dream: 

“This man leads a charmed life;” 

Angels guard Him here ’twould seem. 
Watch the contest growing near— 

Jewish hate stirs Roman fear. 

“See! I wash my hands here clean; 

Take Him, do whate’er you will, 

Go and gratify your spleen, 

Crucify Him on the hill!” 

So all watch the dance begin, 

Jewish hate with Roman sin. 


The Via Dolorosa 

The Via Dolorosa 
Led from the palace gate, 
Where Pilate sat in judgment, 
And kept the things of state; 


38 


It curved across the city, 

And out the old north wall, 

Beyond Damascus’ towers, 

Beloved and known by all. 

’Twas half past eight, on Friday, 
When Christ, in grief and pain, 

Was forced along this highway, 

To where He would be slain; 

Ye blessed stones, and holy! 

O’er which our Saviour trod 
When He, in anguish, humbly 
Went off to meet His God. 

Upon His back He carried 
The heavy cross of death; 

Borne down, He almost fainted, 

And gasped awhile for breath; 

His strength was surely failing; 

How could He stand the strain! 

How could the cruel soldiers 
Wipe out their guilty stain! 

At last He swooned completely, 

By weakness overcome; 

The crowd went wild with laughter 
The vilest of the scum ; 

Veronica, a lady, 

In tender warm regard, 

With kerchief wiped His forehead, 
And won a great reward. 

By force they draft a pilgrim, 

Called Simon of Cyrene, 

Just coming from the country, 


39 


Of humble pious mien, 

To share the cross with Jesus, 
Each taking up an end, 

And so to journey forward— 

Thus Simon was a friend. 

Behold the man! How meekly 
He bows His gentle head! 

How tenderly and sweetly 
He prays for those who fled! 
When, after some few moments, 
Again they take the way 
To Calvary on the mountain, 

That awful, frightful day! 

But, still He weakly staggers; 
Oh! weary fainting heart, 

Will not some one be gracious, 
And take a kindly part 
Of all that load of sorrow, 

And rest that bloody face! 

The heavens were black and silent; 
No help came round the place. 

To gain a moment’s respite 
He leaned against a porch; 

The Jewish owner cursed Him 
With words that sting and scorch; 
God laid on him the torture, 

To rest not on his way, 

A wandering Jew thereafter 
Until the Judgment Day. 

In front of all a soldier 
Bore, written on a board, 


40 


The accusation, stating 
What crime or deed abhorred 
The man had done. But no one 
Could venture any news, 

Except that He was simply, 

“Jesus, King of Jews.” 

While walking to the hill-top, 

The gaping crowd loud mocks; 

They ran beside the captain, 

And thrust Him with their stocks; 

But all the while no motion 
Was made by Him to strike, 

Or beat away opponents; 

He treated all alike. 

The Via Dolorosa 
Is sanctified, in hearts 
Who love the patient spirit, 

That walked along its parts, 

And Simon the Cyrenian, 

A crucifer by grace, 

Shall ever have the glory 
Of looking in His face. 

Golgotha 

A skull-shaped hill, beyond the city gate, 

That looks Damascus way, is where they stopped, 

Who led the Christ to Calvary. The great 

White soul here paused, and here the cross was dropped. 

Here Jeremiah’s grotto once had been, 

The weeping prophet, in the days gone by; 


41 


And here another prophet weeps for sin. 

Not in Himself—for others He will die. 

Four soldiers were detailed to do the work 
Concocted by the spirits from the pit, 

Hard, brutal fellows, who would never shirk, 

Or violate instructions in the writ. 

Upon the crest the soldiers digged a hole, 

As merry as a fisher digs for bait, 

In which at length to rest the big cross-poles, 
Whereon they meant to gratify men’s hate. 

Some saintly women pressing near had shown 
Such sympathy, He turned to thank them thus: 

“Weep not for Me, good women; you should groan 
For those unborn, the bad, the impious.” 

They stripped Him naked, adding to His shame, 

For He was hardly better than a dog; 

Since crucifixion sure will blast His name, 

His butchers now will kill and dress a hog. 

To add disgrace, and prove He did a crime, 

Two thieves are butchered with Him, since it pleased; 
The three were common knaves, who sought to climb 
By robbing other men, and so were seized. 

A kindly hand to slake His thirst reached up, 

In friendly effort to assuage His pain, 

Some wine with myrrh. He pushed away the cup, 
Because He would not cloud His nerves or brain. 

Flat on the ground the soldiers laid the beams 
Of wood, and saw them firmly fixed with nails; 


42 


The martyr to their hatred never screams 
And, spite of all He sees, He never quails. 

“Get down,” the captain orders Him, “and lie, 

Stretched out full length, along this cross laid wood; 
And now more bloody horrors flaunt the sky, 

Assaulting faith in human brotherhood. 

Sharp nails were placed against His aching palms; 

Oh! see forthwith the cruel sledges swing! 

The hardened soldiers seem to have no qualms, 

But drive the spikes that all may hear them ring. 

Then through His feet, the selfsame way, they pierce; 
Blood spurted from the wounds, the sufferer moaned; 
The soldiers did their work with feelings fierce, 

And Jesus yielded meekly, while He groaned. 

The soldiers hoisted up the wooden frame, 

And Jesus hung there, crucified to die, 

But, dying thus, He left a deathless fame, 

And draws the world to follow Him on high. 


The Crucifixion Horror 

See the Man of Sorrows now, 
Hanging on the cross, and bow! 
Pledge yourself by solemn vow, 
A follower of Jesus. 

At the hour of nine, a shout 
From the curious crowd about, 
Signified beyond a doubt— 

A spectacle of Jesus. 


43 


On the gibbet there exposed, 

In His nakedness disclosed, 

By His enemies opposed, 

Shame enveloped Jesus. 

Angrily the pious seers 
Railed on Him with jibes and sneers, 
Greeting all His groans with jeers, 
Hurling hate at Jesus. 

Writhing in the utmost pain, 

See the friend of sinners slain, 

As His sufferings slowly drain 

The quivering limbs of Jesus! 

When the sun rides high above, 
Shooting heat rays like a stove, 

Will they not show human love 
To the suffering Jesus? 

Blinded by the noon-day heat, 
Tortured both in hands and feet, 

Will their hearts not softly beat 
For the trembling Jesus? 

Nay! The rabble likes the feast! 

Scribes look on, and hate the beast; 
Impious strictures from the priest 
Hound the ears of Jesus. 

Cruel Roman butchers cried 
Insults at Him; one, beside, 

Thrust a spear deep in His side 
After death claimed Jesus. 


44 


“God, forgive them.” Is it true? 

“For they know not what they do;” 

Oh! Thou sacred, loving Jew! 

Who can equal Jesus? 

He had taught men thus to pray 
For their foes, and now to-day, 

Suffering, He will point the way; 

There was no hate in Jesus. 

At His right one bandit swore, 

Which increased His pain the more; 

But He answered not his roar/ 

Cursing loud at Jesus. 

On His left the dying thief, 

In his agonizing grief, 

Called upon Him for relief: 

“Remember me, Lord Jesus!” 

“Today, I promise thou shalt be 
In Paradise along with me;” 

He thought for others on that tree, 

The great, unselfish Jesus. 

In keeping with their plans and plots, 

But fixing on their honor blots, 

The soldiers started casting lots, 

To own the clothes of Jesus. 

From tossing dice they lounged around, 
And watch Him, seated on the ground, 
Though from their lips came not a sound 
Of sympathy for Jesus. 


45 


Kindly women gathered near, 

While they wept full many a tear; 
Gratefully they loved Him dear. 

The crystal—pure Jesus. 

Scribes were wagging wicked heads, 
Tearing language into shreds; 

One an impious insult spreads 
Against the holy Jesus. 

See His mother standing there! 
Trembling, weeping, wrapped in prayer, 
Her desolation adding care 
To her beloved Jesus. 

John He caught with loving eyes; 
“Take her, be to her a wise, 

Tender son,” to sympathize 
Now in the place of Jesus. 

Raging thirst consumed Him, hung 
On that cross; His lolling tongue 
Agonies showed, tortures wrung; 

Oh! hear! “I thirst,” cried Jesus. 

“God! my God!” He cried with groans, 
“Thou hast left me! Hear His moans!” 
Heaven seems hard, as paving stones; 
There is no help for Jesus. 

His atoning work is done ; 

“It is finished;” He has won, 

Proved to all He is God’s son, 

Divine, and lordly Jesus! 


46 


“I commend myself to Thee, 

Father, for eternity, 

Home I come, one of the three”— 

And so He died—our Jesus. 

See! the captain with the rod 
Stoops and kneels upon the sod, 

“This man was the Son of God!” 

Both Lord and Saviour—Jesus. 

Nine till three—what awful strain! 

Tortured in the flesh with pain, 

Agonizing, thus was slain 

The Lamb of God—our Jesus. 

Who Crucified the Christ? 

When I saw Jesus, foully crucified 
Between two thieves, so wantonly, I cried: 

“Who did this deed against Thyself and us?” 

To which my Master meekly answered thus: 

“The Rabbis, chiefly, often wished me dead; 

They rained their mafedictions on my head; 

Their hate became a measure of their loss, 

They nailed me madly to the cruel cross. 

“The Pharisees spread nets to catch My feet; 

Their cunning never lagged, but sure and fleet 
They pressed their vicious charges, and commands, 
Each lie a nail that pierced My bleeding hands. 

“The Sadducees had mocked Me in their mirth, 
Because I taught a world beyond this earth; 

They raised the hammers, raining blow on blow, 
They sent the nails home full of frightful woe. 


47 


“A soldier, hardened by his crimes, adorned 
My brow with such a cruel crown, and scorned 
The blood that wet My face, and when I died 
He later thrust a spear into My side. 

“An angry crowd, with torches, swords, and staves, 
Urged on by blood-lust, which it often craves, 

Swept through the garden, jammed the judgment 
hall, 

And drove the nails, exulting over all. 

“But Judas, who was one of those I loved, 

Led on the mob, who crowded round, and shoved, 
While he, with cunning played a traitor’s part; 

His words were nails that pierced Me to the heart. 

“The brutal Herod, big with lust and sin, 

Made friends with Pilate, when the word came in, 
Ensnared by many vices, tangled in their mesh; 

He drove the nails into My quivering flesh. 

“The Roman Pilate, said he found no fault 
In Me, and vainly washed his hands, to halt 
The devil’s work, but lacked in will to stop 
The nails that pinned Me to the cross’s prop. 

“The Sanhedrin, before the eastern sky 
Let in the dawn, declared I ought to die; 

Their bitter curses mingled with their wails; 

With malice in their hearts they drove the nails. 

“My loved disciples left Me to My fate, 

Their courage failing them, who boasted late; 

In fear they fled to some good safe retreat; 

Their attitude pierced both My hands and feet, 


48 


“And Simon Peter, who declared with vim, 

That I need never have a fear for him, 

Denied with curses he had known My name; 

This filled My tortured body full of shame. 

“A thief who suffered with Me swore and cursed, 
As though he held Me guilty from the first, 

And, as his ribald language struck My ears, 

He caused My wounds to tingle with his jeers. 

“And even now, though centuries have fled, 

And I have risen clearly from the dead, 

All you who fail to do God’s holy will— 

You smite the nails until they torture still.” 


49 


/ 


THE RESURRECTION of our LORD JESUS CHRIST 
on EASTER DAY 


1. The Dead Christ. 

2. The Funeral Procession. 

3. The Centurion at the Grave. 

4. Gabriel and the Resurrection. 

5. The Two Marys Going to the Tomb. 

6. The Gardener. 

7. John to Peter. 

8. The Resurrection Joy. 

9. The Roman Guard. 

10. Two Going to Emmaus. 

11. Christ’s Triumph over Death. 


The Dead Christ 

The sky is black with clouds and pain; 
The sun has turned blood-red; 

Bright flam,es of lightning strike the plain, 
For one God loves is dead. 

An earthquake rocked the earth; the rain 
Came pouring down in sheets; 

The temple vail is rent in twain, 

And dead men walk the streets. 

A hidden terror rides, his train, 

In shrouds, with eyes aflame— 

Avenging spirits sent to chain 
The enemies of the Name. 


This outrage, blind and dumb, had lain 
For months in human hearts 
Who, huddled close, like sheep, would fain 
Join in when murder starts. 

The Son of Man by hate is slain; 

He hangs dead on a cross; 

What action can remove the stain, 

Or compensate earth’s loss? 

But deeds of violence are vain 
Attempts to hurt His cause; 

The stabs and tortures bring Him gain, 
And certify His laws. 

Dead, and they take Him down, and drain 
A brimming cup of woe; 

Dead, and, through their whole domain, 
The devils gloat below. 

The Funeral of Jesus 

His ministry and life are done; 

Toll the bell! Toll the bell! 

His earthly race at last is run; 

Toll the bell in sorrow! 

Jesus, we who followed Thee, 

Trusted, loved, and honored, see 
Death has robbed us cruelly. 

Black will be the mprrow! 

The silver thread of life has snapped; 

Toll the bell! Toll the bell! 

About Thee death his arms hath wrapped; 
Toll the bell in sorrow! 


52 


Man who started in the womb 
Finds his destiny the tomb; 

Roll the stone back; yield Him room! 

Grief prevails tomorrow! 

Mourners weep now round Thee dead; 

Toll the bell! Toll the bell! 

On bended knee, with low bowed head; 

O hear the bells in sorrow! 

From this broken house of clay, 

Up Thy spirit wends its way, 

Onward toward a better day, 

Hoped for on the morrow! 

Earthly dreams are ended now; 

Toll the bell! Toll the bell! 

Death sits on Thy cold, pale brow; 

Toll the bell in sorrow! 

As the buried seeds await 
Spring’s return, then rise, elate, 

Faith may win a new estate; 

Life, perhaps, tomorrow! 

The Centurion at the Grave 

Come, lay that dead Jew in this tomb! 

We’ve had rough work to do today; 

We can’t wait here the trump of doom; 

Stand back, and for His friends make way! 

That’s right! Now, on His ghastly face 
Place a small napkin! Put His head 
Here, toward the East! There! that’s the place 
I guess He’ll be a long time dead. 


53 


Now, roll this heavy weight of stone! 

It weighs ten hundred pounds at least; 
Lay on, and push the monster prone 
Against the opening at the East! 

My orders are to make Him fast, 

For fear His cursed disciples come 
And steal Him; if they should, their last 
Low trick would strike their rulers dumb. 

This Roman seal I now attach, 

Its sanctity inviolate; 

He dies the death who tries to snatch 
This body from its Roman fate. 

Now set the guard, and arm them well, 
And give them orders strict and strong; 
They answer with their lives who sell 
This sacred trust, and do Rome wrong. 

Your watch shall be held night and day; 
Relief shall come from time to time, 

Until the danger pass away; 

He suffered for some deadly crime. 

And, so, the Roman sentinels 
Stood guard beside the Master’s tomb; 
An angel guarded, too, who dwells 
Where all the Easter lilies bloom. 


54 


Gabriel and the Resurrection 

A broken-hearted mother moaned: 

“Alas, for stricken Mary!” 

A faithful, grateful woman groans, 

“What can we do for Mary?” 

Two tearful nights were full of dread; 

The Sabbath day was quickly sped; 

At dawn He rises from the dead; 

Glory, hallelujah! 

Just as the stars were going in— 

Soft tapers lit for Jesus— 

Just when the day’s sweet joys begin, 
Great Gabriel came to Jesus: 

“I hold a trumpet in my hand, 

And blow it at my Lord’s command, 

To wake the dead on sea or land;” 

Glory, hallelujah! 

An earthquake shook the mountain round, 
That rocked their deep foundation; 

The guards fell frightened on the ground, 
Filled full of consternation; 

“From Him I hold the golden key; 

I come to set the prisoner free, 

Who is God’s Son eternally;” 

Glory, hallelujah! 

He rolled the mighty stone away, 

And cleft the seal asunder; 

His face was like the light of day, 

His voice a voice of thunder; 

“I am the angel Gabriel; 


55 


I know the will of God full well; 

He keeps the gates of heaven and hell 
Glory, hallelujah! 

The Jewish state has slain its King, 

Who came as God appointed; 

It was a crime, an evil thing, 

Against the Lord’s anointed; 

“Come forth!” the angel strongly said, 
“And leave this new rock tomb, thy bed.” 
He rises, living, from the dead, 

Glory, hallelujah! 

Two Marys Going to the Tomb 

“How sweet it was of Mary, 

That day at Bethany, 

To pour on Christ the spikenard! 

She was His devotee;” 

So spake the saintly women, 

With almost panting breath, 

Who went to keep one morning 
Their rendezvous with death. 

“How lovely too of Martha 
To go to so much pains, 

And seat them all at table 
With such care-taking brains!” 

So said another Mary 
To one who held her wrist, 

As both together hastened 
One morn to keep their tryst. 

“But, Magdalen, how devoted 
Our Lord Christ was to both! 


56 


The one on wisdom doted 
The other hated sloth .’ 1 
And Magdalen made her answer, 
Almost beneath her breath, 

Resolved to keep that morning 
Her rendezvous with death. 

“Poor, broken-hearted Mary, 

The mother of our Lord, 

Kept all last night her vigil, 
Insistent on His word!” 

So sympathized those women, 

As, pushing through the mist 
Of early dawn that morning, 

They went to keep the tryst. 

“I have the linen bandage;” 

“And I the precious myrrh;” 

“Have you the nard from Mary?” 
“Have you His gift to her?” 

Thus back and forth they parleyed, 
As both, with bated breath, 

Pressed on to keep so early 
Their rendezvous with death. 

“John had to stay with Mary; 

How thoughtful Jesus was! 

He gave to John His mother, 

While on the painful cross;” 

So each spoke to the other, 
According as they list, 

That day in trudging forward, 
With Christ to keep the tryst. 


57 


“I bought the finest spices,” 

Said Magdalen, ‘‘because 

His life and words were jnatchless, 

In Him there were no flaws.” 

So thought the pretty princess 
Of Magdala, whose breath 
Was perfumed as she measured 
Her rendezvous with death. 

“But, how N shall we two manage 
To roll away the stone! 

It was so large and heavy 
We can’t do so alone.” 

So reasoned both the pilgrims, 

As day the earth had kissed, 

That early Easter morning 
When both went to the tryst. 

Ah! glorious, golden women! 

For you the Master’s crown! 

You gave Him heart devotion; 

He gives you all renown; 

You knew the place of meeting, 

And went, with prayerful breath, 

To keep the tryst that morning— 
That rendezvous with death. 

The Gardener 

There was a famous gardener, 
Who, once upon a time, 

Was gentle to the poor folks, 
Which made his work sublime; 

He kept his garden cleanly, 


58 


Nor spared himself one whit; 

He was a royal workman, 

As all who know admit. 

One day, a crowd of poor folks 
Came mourning to his place 
Behind a poor dead outcast, 

Who had a woeful face; 

And they were weeping sorely, 

A mother standing near 
The body, as they carried 
It, dead upon the bier. 

The gardener was kindly, 

And gave a helping hand; 

He brought a chair for Mary; 
His manner too was grand; 

He lifted Jesus gently, 

Not, like the soldiers, rough, 

And wound around Him, slowly 
The bandage soft but tough. 

The poor folk loved him greatly, 
And came to him in pain, 

Or sorrow, for his counsel; 

And he loved them—’twas plain. 
So, up and down his garden, 

He toiled away at will, 

And all men knew his goodness, 
And many knew his skill. 

The kindly man was tender 
To Mary and her son; 

He gave them extra favor, 


59 


And for himself asked none; 

His deeds were all in mercy; 

His heart was humble, too; 

His sympathy contagious; 

His like are all too few. 

One early April morning 
He heard a word of grief, 

A broken-hearted mourner 
Was weeping for relief; 

Borne down to earth with fasting, 
Her eyes filled full of tears, 

She saw the humane gardener, 

Who sought to calm her fears. 

’Twas Magdalen, that Mary 
Who loved the Lord Christ well; 
She saw the gardener standing; 

Her eyes with weeping swell; 

Said he, “Good woman, tell me, 

Why are you weeping so? 

Whom do you seek so early, 

Before the morning’s glow?” 

“Oh! Sir;” she plead so sweetly, 
“They’ve carried off my Lord; 

I know not where they’ve laid Him; 
Nor know with whose accord; 

If thou hast borne Him hence, sir, 
I beg thee tell me where, 

And I shall take His body, 

And bury it with care.” 

Then Jesus simply: “Mary!” 

It thrilled her through with love; 


60 


“Rabboni,” said sweet Mary; 

The angels smiled above; 

But “Touch me not,” said Jesus, 

As soft He stepped aside; 

It was the gardener truly, 

The gardener glorified. 

John to Peter 

“Recall, the Master said: 

Til rise up from the dead;’ 

The thing seemed past belief; 

We stumbled in our grief; 

He will not fail in this, 

And if He rise, the bliss 
Will burst my heart, I still 
Believe He can and will. 

“He said the dead shall rise, 

And mount up to the skies, 

That in three days too, He 
With immortality, 

Should crown His work, and bloom 
Forth from the empty tomb, 

As lilies do in spring, 

And every living thing. 

“Hath not God given sign 
That Jesus was His shrine? 

That He a true shekinah made 
For God, Who loved the maid, 

His mother Mary, mild, 

When she was big-with child, 


61 


Thus incarnating Him, 

To whom our lamps are dim. 

“A second life He gave 
To Lazarus at his grave; 

He raised the widow’s son 
At Nain! nor was He done, 

But when the ruler’s girl, 

A child, but still his pearl, 

Was stiff and stark in death, 

He gave her vital breath. 

“What! Lo! the women whom 
We love, come from His tomb; 

What can the matter be! 

They haste, and seem in glee; 
What! is this message true? 

And you have been to view 
His empty tomb, and found 
Him gone, and nowhere round? 

“Come, Peter, let us run! 

Behold, the early sun 
Will light us on the way! 

The eastern sky is gray; 

Make haste! make haste! and speed 
Your coming! ah! we need 
The wings of eagles, strong, 

To help us both along! 

“I’ll be there at the tomb, 

And wait for you in gloom;” 

So, forth he sped on feet 
With winged sandals fleet; 


62 


He paused before the stone, 
Rolled back, and, all alone, 
Thanked God for what his eyes 
Beheld of Paradise. 

The slower Peter came 
With legs more aged and lame, 
And both went in to see 
The glorious mystery; 

The tomb was dark as night, 

At first, but empty quite; 

Nor were they once afraid, 

But on their knees, both prayed. 

Then John to Peter; “Friend, 
May God His own defend, 

But life has conquered death! 
He said so with the breath 
That spoke of heaven and home, 
In that sweet upper room; 

He gave us earthly strife 
That we might enter life. 

“In life He courted pain 
And death, but lives again; 

He said He would, and we, 

In our stupidity, 

Were deaf and dumb and blind. 
Ah! had we known His mind, 
We might have been prepared, 
And all His sorrow shared. 

“I see now, on my part, 

That next His bleeding heart, 


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An Easter lily fair, 

Its whiteness pale and rare, 

Was blooming, that His soul 
Was ready for a role 
Of matchless worth, its law 
A resurrection awe. 

“Ah, where is He, our Lord? 

I recollect His word, 

That in old Galilee 
He meant us all to be. 

How bright the sun shines here! 
The tomb is growing .clear; 

At first, as black as night, 

It now is turned quite light. 

“There stands His angel. List! 

His word must not be missed. 
Above the bright white sun 
He shines in raiment spun 
Of purest light, a robe 
Resplendent as a globe, 

On which the shining rays 
Have centered in a blaze.” 

“Why seek ye here,” he said, 

“The living ’mong the dead? 
Behold! He is not here, 

But risen; dismiss your fear; 
Remember how He spake, 

That He from death should wake; 
Believe His spoken word! 

Obey your risen Lord.” 


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Joy! Joy! Joy! 


Joy! . Joy! Joy! 

The bells have gone mad today; 

Earth is redeemed from the curse of sin, 
And heaven is on its way. 

Delirious ring the chimes: 

The risen Prince is here, 

Heaven is kissing the earth with joy, 
And God is very near. 

The Prince has a golden crown, 

In place of a crown of thorns, 

A crown of glory and victory 
His forehead now adorns. 

A sceptre is in His hand, 

A merciful, gracious rod; 

The chimes are telling the story, how 
He carries the will of God. 

O! hear the jubilee! 

The reign of tooth and claw 
Has served its lawful end, and now 
It yields to kindlier law. 

Joy! Joy! Joy! 

The risen white Christ is here; 

The chimes are wild with deep delight 
And utter the world’s glad cheer. 


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The Roman Guard 


I was a guard, detailed to watch 
That strange man’s tomb; 

*1 went on duty on the scratch, 

But full of gloom; 

Mine was the last watch of the night; 

It started e’er the stars took flight, 

And lasted through the morning light, 
Till crack of doom. 

I paced, sometimes, before that cave, 
The grassy ground; 

Some others did so, too, but gave, 

Nor heard, a sound; 

Until, at cock-crow, such a loud 

Report, like thunder, scared the crowd, 

We fell like dead men, while a cloud 
Of light shone round. 

These eyes have not deceived me yet, 
And I am young; 

I felt my brow drip with the sweat, 
Then up I sprung. 

I saw that stone roll from the door, 

I saw an angel go before, 

I saw Him inside on the floor, 

Or I’ll be hung. 

And then, I saw that dead man spring, 
His strength was fine— 

Upon His feet, an easy thing; 

I saw Him shine; 

I looked into His very eyes, 


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They were aflame, and kind and wise; 

He seemed amazed at my surprise; 

I saw His sign. 

I saw the nail prints in His hands, 

And in His feet; 

I saw a spear-thrust make demands 
On His heart-beat. 

I stood guard at the gates of death, 

But here was flesh and blood, no wraith, 
I thought I felt His living breath, 

I was so near. 

He stepped outside, and breathed the air, 
And He seemed glad; 

I noticed then how very fair 
He was, though clad 
In grave-clothes, catching now the light, 
Until they gleamed so fair and bright, 

I saw no color, but their white, 

Soft radiance. 

All this I saw, and then He left, 

And went His way; 

I know that some have been bereft 
Of honor quite, 

Who stood guard with me on and off, 
Have taken money, just to scoff 
And lie about it. Then they cough, 

And wink the truth. 

They offered me a handsome bribe 
To shut my mouth; 

They had it fixed that we ascribe 
The thing, forsooth, 


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To His disciples. I despise the trick; 
Their troubles now come good and thick; 
I saw Him rise, and do it quick, 

And swear it true. 

Two Going to Emmaus 

Emmaus is a Jewish town, 

Not seven miles away 

From where our Lord was trampled down, 

And toward the south it lay; 

But, oh! the wonder happened there, 
Inclining men to gape and stare, 

Or fall upon their knees in prayer, 

One certain festal day. 

Two men were walking, grieved and sad, 
Along that country road; 

They both were weak and meanly clad, 

And on their hearts a load, 

For one they loved had died, and they 
Had heard, with puzzled minds, men say 
This was His resurrection day, 

Which only served to goad. 

A stranger joined them, and the three 
Went on together then, 

Since misery loves company, 

And these were lonely men; 

“What makes you look so sad? pray tell,” 
The stranger asked, and quickly fell 
Into their mood, and it was well; 

They opened up again. 


“Are you so ill acquainted here 
You have not heard the news? 

A miracle has bloomed this year, 

Beyond man’s mental views. 

We had a Master true and tried; 

Foes said, ‘Let Him be crucified;’ 

They nailed Him to a cross; He died, 

That ended Him for Jews. 

“But now our women say He lives, 

That He has risen today; 

It is this very news that gives 
Our hearts such deep dismay; 

We thought our Master was the one 
Whom God had sent—His very Son— 

And that His reign would be begun 
O’er waiting Israel.” 

The stranger showed deep sympathy, 

And gave them kindly smiles; 

He used, with rich variety, 

Their scripture, (Ah, sweet miles!) 

He quoted Moses’ finest strains, 

The prophets in their richest veins, 

And showed how Christ would win His gains, 
By suffering unto death. 

And now as they drew near the town, 

And soon would separate, 

The darkness of the night drew down; 

The time was growing late; 

They asked the stranger in to dine: 

“Abide with us.” He made a sign 
To go, but they had bread and wine, 

And so He stayed to sup. 


69 


Our finest courtesy is shown 
Toward strangers whom we meet; 
And we reval ourselves; if thrown 
With others when we eat; 

The stranger bowed His humble head, 
And asked a blessing on the bread; 

It was the living Christ, once dead, 

But risen that very day. 

Christ’s Triumph Over Death 

Jesus was taken down, 

Mangled and bruised and brown, 
From that vile cross, His crown 
Crumbled in dust. 

Joseph prepared His grave 
In yonder new made cave; 

Freely the rich man gave 
Unto His Lord. 

Jesus was laid to rest 
By those who loved Him best; 
Now the amazing test! 

“I shall arise.” 

Dead in the tomb He lay, 

Wrapped in the usual way, 
Waiting the Judgment day, 

Jesus our Lord. 

Vainly they place the guard, 
Nothing avails their hard 
Vigil! They disregard 

God’s word of power. 


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Useless that Roman seal, 

At Gabriel’s trumpet peal, 

God will His love reveal 
Unto His Son. 

Death cannot hold its throne; 
Love rolls away the stone; 

Life comes to claim its own— 
Jesus our Lord. 

When those three days were sped, 
He left His lowly bed; 

Arising from the dead, 

He lives again. 

The hell-hounds did their worst; 
They tortured Him with thirst; 
He had the strength to burst 
Their bonds in twain. 

He snapped their iron bars, 
Though still He wore the scars 
Of suffering that mars 
Our human hearts. 

In triumph He came out, 
Dispelling fear and doubt; 

Oh, hear the angels shout. 

His praise aloud! 

Like cooings of a dove, 

Come down from cotes above 
His words of Easter love 
Are freely given. 


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The Lord is risen today; 

Fall on your knees, and pray! 
“Glory to Thee alway, 

Jesus our Lord.” 

E’er morn rise o’er the rim, 
Keep Easter tryst with Him! 
Sing joyfully the hymn, 

Our Christ is risen. 

Blessing, honor, and power 
Be unto Him this hour! 

Yield Him the lily flower, 
And victory palm! 


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